Blue Waltz by Linda Francis Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

something wrong with the brandy, Monsieur St. James?"
    Stephen's finger stilled. He glanced between the crystal snifter and the maître d', who leaned down, concern creasing his forehead. "No, Bertrand. The brandy is fine." He pushed the chair back and stood. "But I've kept you long enough."
    "Ah, no, monsieur. I am in no hurry."
    Stephen smile, a tired smile. "Of course you're in a hurry, and I hardly blame you. A wife and five children, isn't it?"
    Bertrand straightened proudly. "Oui, monsieur. How kind of you to remember."
    Stephen's smile faded. "I'm not kind, Bertrand. Not kind at all. Just ask my brother."
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    Once outside Stephen instructed his driver to go on without him. "The rain has stopped and the walk will do me good."
    "As you wish, sir," the man replied before pulling away in the black-enameled landau Stephen used in winter, the black lanterns on either side swaying in the night like beacons to the netherworld.
    Buttoning his sealskin coat and pulling his top hat low on his head, Stephen stepped through the opening in the black wrought iron fencing and onto the path that meandered through the Public Gardens toward his home. Indeed, the rain had stopped, but the now bright night was still filled with a bitter chill. Massive billowing clouds, like mounds of newly sheared wool, scudded across the black sky, sometimes obscuring the moon and stars. A bone-numbing wind came up to wrap around him. And
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    just when he began to regret the impetuousness that had bade him walk the distance across the park, he saw her. If he had taken the landau, or even walked along the road, he would have missed her—lying in the mud like something discarded. Motionless and forgotten. Unwanted.
    He knew it was her with a certainty, as if he had expected to find her there, had suspected she would never make it to her destination on her own. In the darkened public house she had seemed strong, though oddly weak, invincible but strangely vulnerable. Now all her strength was gone.
    He dropped to one knee beside her.
    "Madam." His deep voice resonated in the darkened winter night. No response, just the secret whisper of the wind through the long, delicate limbs of willow trees.
    "Madam." With his good hand he took hold of her shoulder and shook. When she still didn't move, he cursed and glanced about for help. With one useless arm, he didn't know how he could move her on his own.
    "Madam!"
    Her eyes fluttered, but didn't open.
    "Madam, please!" He shook her again, something akin to frustration growing within him—or perhaps it was panic. But that was absurd. He never panicked, and certainly not over a woman he didn't even know. "Madam!"
    She stirred and groaned, a faint distant sound, before her eyes slowly opened. Through half slits she looked up at him. A moment passed, a long moment as clouds drifted by, and then she smiled, a slow, secret smile as if she didn't lie in a puddle of thick, grasping mud, her full lips, once so red, now blue with cold. "Hello, pirate-man," she whispered.
    Stephen's brow furrowed, and he nearly forgot their predicament. Nearly. "Are you hurt?"
    46Linda Francis Lee
    "Hurt? Who can say?" She tried to move, the effort making her grimace. "We've all been hurt, my pirate-man."
    He hesitated, studying her curiously, then unwilling to chase that particular hare down a path he had no interest in traveling, he simply asked, "If I help, do you think you can stand?"
    "Of course I can stand." Her smile widened, but her eyes fluttered closed.
    "Madam, please! You've got to help me. I can't do this by myself."
    With effort, her eyes opened again. "Help you? How can I help you?"
    "By trying to get up, then telling me your name so I can see you home."
    The wind swirled around them, catching the brim of his hat, tugging it from his head. But he didn't notice, didn't care that the silk hat raced through the park, pushed on by the